Enchanted
by zunaira ghazal
Summary: Sasuke, Sakura and their happy ever after. Drabble 12: Summary: Where Sarada observes how love can be a tangible thing. SasuSaku. Post Canon.
1. Treasure

**Summary**: that time Uchiha Sasuke unwittingly drank toilet water.

**-a-**

It happened one sunny afternoon when Sakura was at the hospital and Sasuke was looking after Sarada. She was a mere three year old toddler, a princess in her own right, the sparkle of her Papa's eye, the pride and joy of the new Uchiha clan. Smitten that he was, Sasuke never had the heart to deny his little baby girl anything. So, on this fine day, when Sarada waddled to him with a flowery, pink tea-cup filled to the brim with water and presented it to him with that beaming smile on her face, he grudgingly said good-bye to his dignity, plucked the tiny contraption from her hands and played tea-party with his daughter. She would serve him imaginary biscuits and when he had drained his cup, would go out of the room and return again with a 'fresh cup of tea.'

The look that she gave him radiated sunlit sincerity, and in his heart, Sasuke positively _basked _in the warmth of that smile.

And that was how Sakura found them, Sarada serving him tea and imaginary biscuits in the livingroom while he played the part of delightfully obliged guest. At first she just started at him, then she stared at the cup, and then at Sarada. Then she leaned against the door, crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a grin that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Did it ever occur to you, Sasuke-kun," she bgan sweetly, "that the only place she can reach to actually get water is the toilet?"

It took him a moment to comprehend that and then his face slackened in dismay. He looked at his little angel and suddenly, her smile didn't seem so innocent anymore. He gulped. "Uh…" he began.

Sakura shook her head in amusement and crouched down to sarada. "Honey, will you bring Papa another cup of tea?"

Sarada beamed her approval and ran out of the room. Sakura motioned for him to follow and sure enough, they found her scooping out water from the toilet. Sasuke groaned and rubbed a palm on his face.

As Sakura scooped up their daughter in her arms, she gave him a cheeky smile, "Don't you dare kiss me with that mouth for a week."

He could only frown in assent.

**-a-**

_fin_


	2. Valkyrie

**Summary:** In which Papa is a prince and Sarada is a self-proclaimed feminist.

**-a-**

Every other night, the Uchiha family would gather in their living room and revel in each others presence; for they were a tight-knit little group, and on occasion, inseparable. It was on one of these nights in the Uchiha household; where Uchiha Sarada lay her head in her Mama's lap while she simultaneously read a scroll and ran her fingers through Sarada's hair while Papa rest his head in the crook of Mama's neck, drowsing peacefully. Honestly, she smirked, it was a wonder Mama suffered through his childish antics. For at the tender age of eight, Sarada had decided she was somewhat of a feminist; men were insufferable fools and women were going to rule the world one day. She especially despised the degrading concept of 'damsel in distress.'

She would be, she thought perhaps a tad haughtily, a knight in shining sequins. Preferably pink ones. She decided that night, that her parents should know about her future aspirations.

"Mama."

Both her parents looked at her. "I don't like boys."

Papa blinked, looking slightly panicked and Mama sighed, patting him on the cheek a little condescendingly. "Bolt, again, honey?" she asked.

Sarada turned in her lap and took Mama's hand from her hair. "Not really. I just think they're all pests."

When she looked up, she noticed that Papa looked slightly crushed. So she frowned, got up and made herself comfortable on Mama's lap. She took Papa's hand and twined her fingers with him. "It's just," she started, not quite knowing how to describe how she felt.

Mama gave her an encouraging peck on the cheek. Feeling slightly better, she tried again. "I feel like men hold us back!" she exclaimed. And then all those words spilled right out of her. "It's like they expect us to do everything! And then they disrespect us—not you Papa." She added when he opened his mouth to retort. "On top of that, they're stupid and disgusting and-" here she thought about all those freaks at the academy, and frowned very hard, "-they _think_ they're better than us—not you Papa." Because, she thought, her Papa was the rare exception.

"Sarada…"

Then, because she was curious, she asked, "Mama? How did you find someone like Papa?"

Her parents exchanged a look. "Oh, baby." Mama hugged her tight. "Someday, you'll find your prince too."

Papa scoffed majestically. Sarada frowned her dissent. Mama smiled and wound one arm around Papa's neck and kissed him on the cheek. Papa let her. "Did you know, Sarada? Mine took a wrong turn, got lost and was too stubborn to ask for directions."

Papa rolled his eyes and kissed the back of Sarada's hand, still twined with his.

Sarada huffed her disapproval and gave Papa a hard look. "Did you give Mama a hard time, Prince Papa?"

Papa neatly averted his eyes, turned back to Mama and bowed his head in a small nod, as if in gratitude and murmured, "I'm very grateful that she forgave me."

Sarada nodded in approval while Mama beamed at Papa radiantly.

"Anyway," she said and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, "I'll be just as awesome as you, Mama, _without_ any prince."

**-a-**

_fin_


	3. Vogue

**summary: **because, uchiha sakura loved picking on her husband.  
-

"Did you know, Sarada-chan?" She said one day while sitting at the dining table, "Once upon a time your Papa was just a pasty little snot nosed whiner."

Sasuke sighed wearily. He knew Sakura was vengeful and petty and prone to being a smart ass when it was her day for doing the dishes.

Sarada looked at her mother curiously.

"Did you know, once he flashed his Sharingan at Uncle Lee and he kicked him_right_ in the face! It was epic!"

It disturbed him a little, how happy it made her to humiliate him. "I seem to recall, you were right there, cheering me on with bright shiny eyes."

She sniffed. "I'm always cheering you on with bright shiny eyes." She paused. "Except that time when you started wearing the purple ass ribbon." She gave him a pointed look.

He took a deep, tired breath and she smirked at him. "Tell me Sasuke-kun, was that a fashion statement or a mating call?"

He gave her a nod of acknowledgement . He knew he deserved all the shit she dished out sometimes. Sarada giggled. "I'd like to have seen Papa in that outfit."

"Oh honey." She smiled and finally got up to gather the dishes. "It was hardly a sight for sore eyes."

Sasuke shook his head, amused, and braced himself for more humiliation but relaxed as she dropped a kiss in his hair, and one on his nose for good measure before walking to the sink.

"Fear me," she said casually. "For I know every humiliating moment of your life. You too, Sarada-chan. _Especially_, you."

Both father and daughter gave each other exasperated looks, love in their eyes for this frustrating woman.


	4. Kickback

**Summary: **in which sakura shamelessly blackmails.

**-a-**

Sarada loved snuggling up to her mother; after a particularly grueling day, she would walk in her mama's arms and bask in the comforting warmth of her embrace. In turn, Sakura loved holding her daughter close; her heart would swell and her body would radiate love. She would hold Sarada tighter and pretend that all the love she felt was being soaked into the tiny body in her arms. One such night found the Uchiha's in the master suite; Sasuke leaned against the headboard, his eyes skimming a particularly interesting scroll while Sakura's head rested on his lap; Sarada sleeping placidly in her arms.

It was peaceful. Sasuke's body was relaxed in a way it only did on rare occasions and he was reveling in the serenity when, "Sasuke-kun?"

"Hm?" he intoned, barely breaking his concentration.

"Will you be a darling and make me a cup of tea?" Sakura mumbled against Sarada's hair.

"No." he said casually and opened the scroll a little farther, fascinated. His single minded preoccupation broke when Sakura's hand reached out from under and took his own. She twined her fingers in his and draped his arm over her shoulder. Then she kissed his knuckles. He knew in that instant that she was about to skewer him to shreds. He was, essentially, correct.

"Remember that time you knocked me out and left me on a cold, hard bench? And that time you tried to kill me? Oh, and that time you tried to kill me again?" she cradled Sarada in one arm and half turned in his lap. She fluttered her lashes and grinned.

Sasuke's stomach dropped. He never liked talking about that time in his life. And there was always a twinge in his chest when she tried to make light of all the hurt he'd caused. He averted his eyes and tried to pry his hand away from her. She only held it tighter. There was a moment of tense silence—and for her, because she was now a part of him—the corner of his lip twitched into a ghost of a smile. "…you tried to kill me, too."

She laughed then, and kissed the back of his hand. "Only because you were…uh, a little…hm, touched in the head at the time?"

"Don't be annoying." He picked up the scroll with his other hand.

"Hmm, what was it you said? My revenge is everything, as long as I exact it I don't care what happens to anyone else."

There was a smile in her words, voice lowered in baritone to better mimic his and Sasuke felt his face heating up in mortification. Somewhere along the way, Sakura had become a master at guilt tripping him in submission. It was a gift, really.

"Your powers of persuasion are evil." He intoned, resigned, and made to get up to deliver that accursed tea.

"Say, you still want to start that revolution?" she laughed.

His face about combusted from latent humiliation, as he hurried out of the room.

_Fin_


	5. Home

**summary:** i'm the home you can always return to.

**x**

Sakura, by nature was an affectionate person. Most of the time she used gestures to get her emotions across. She was a firm believer that touching a person to get your point across was not only bolstering but for someone like Sasuke, especially, it had become a tool for her to reassure him of not only her presence but also her love and her devotion.

Sasuke, on the other hand was silent, taciturn and unintentionally blunt and constrained. He believed that words were cheap and actions spoke louder than words. But for Sakura, words weren't cheap either. Naruto had taught her that; never go back on your word, that's your ninja way. It had become more of a vogue, really. And with Sasuke, both words and actions were instruments—a way for Sakura to make the world around him a little bit more habitable, a little bit more familiar and just a tiny bit more, _homier_.

So whenever he would come back, she would chatter him to oblivion—and he would listen diligently, with the patience of perhaps, Sakura would think, a saint maybe. She would find excuses to touch him in the most subtle of ways; passing the dishes, a careless flick of the hand and sometimes he would give her a smile so small yet so genuine it would always get her heart racing and her chest would swell with so much love and nostalgic longing that tears would prick the corners of her eyes and she would have to blink them away.

But in the darkness of the night, he was the one who would slip quietly in bed and wind his arms around her, settle her snugly against him and slip a leg between her thighs. She would sigh in contentment and fist his shirt in her palms. He would dip his head and kiss her on the throat; right between her clavicle and chin and his head would stay there for several heartbeats, his breath fanning the crook of her shoulder and she would relish in the feel of _him._

Achingly slow, he would move his lips and her breath would start to hitch. Every time his tongue would flick out, a shiver would wrack her body in pleasure and every time he would nip, she would bury a moan in his hair.

His hands would always slip under her shirt and he would lazily,seductively trace his thumbs in circles on the curve of her hips. His face would remain buried in the curve of her neck for hours and she would revel in his warmth; for this was the only way Sasuke ever knew to express himself—quietly, reservedly, with passion so constrained she would know he was inhibiting himself on purpose. Sasuke; a boy, who'd lost his love to tragedy too many times.

He would never take it any further; only hold her tighter and kiss her on the forehead. His lips would remain there and Sakura would burrow deeper into his chest. It was a ritual; it was their thing. And while being held in his arms, there was always a little voice in the back of her mind, nagging her, telling her to hold on tighter, or something would take him away again.

But one night, she decided swallow past the momentary anxiety, because if he was brave enough to take such a leap of faith with her, then why should she hold back. _My love_, she thought with determination, _would never bind him. It would be a safe haven. A home_.

"Sasuke-kun," she sighed, her hands fisting more tightly in his shirt. "You know, right?"

He breathed deeply and pressed his lips to her forehead in a silent, _What?_

She fell silent for a moment, and then, "That you're everything…"

She lifted her face and looked him in his mismatched eyes. "That your life is not just yours anymore? That you're half of me, too."

He blinked his bewilderment and she smiled and settled more snugly against him. "But that doesn't mean that you're not free. That I'm holding you back. It just means that I'm the home you can always return to."

There were a few moments of silence where she felt his heart beat a little faster under her palm, and then his arms tightened around her.

"Thank you," he murmured in her hair. "Sakura."

_fin _


	6. Casanova

**summary: **In which Sasuke tries-and fails, to be a Casanova.

**x**

It seldom bothered him that she had managed to acquire a band of solid admirers over the years. Maybe it was a glitch on his perfectly imperfect radar, maybe he was arrogant; but he knew that when push came to shove, Sakura was—had always been—his endgame.

So the day he saw a stranger touching her hand, he felt an old feeling bubble in his chest again. A deep-seated burst of anger so pure, his chest felt like it was on fire, a river of lava trudging down his throat, teeth gritting to dust. Before he could even realize what was happening, his body was by her side, his hand on the small of her back—possessive.

She turned to him, surprised. "Lets go," he stated. He couldn't quite meet her eyes.

"I'm in the middle of a conversation, Sasuke-kun," she replied calmly. The distinct lack of an emotion in her voice, on her face, should've been his first warning.

"Sarada will be home soon," he said, and without further ado started driving her in the direction of their home. She stumbled, caught herself and he vaguely heard her making an excuse before the blood started roaring in his ears.

He increased his pace as the house came into view. As soon as they were inside he slammed the door, turned, and backed her up against it. A hand slid into her hair. He fisted the heavy strands and dragged her mouth up to his. The kiss hot, deep, and thorough, the kind of kiss that made her toes curl up inside her shoes.

Backing up a a little, he kissed the side of her neck.

His eyes widened when she shoved him away. "Mind telling me what that was about?" she gritted out.

His eyes glittered hard in the dim light. He took a deep breath. "You—"

"I," she interrupted, "was talking to an old patient."

"He was touching you. Inappropriately." His clipped, disjointed sentences made him angry at himself, and he rubbed a hand across his brow in chafing frustration

There were a few seconds of silence, then, "Do you not trust me after all this time, Sasuke-kun?"

"Don't be stupid. It is not you, who I don't trust," he snapped.

Sakura met his dark scowl with a heated glower, but she held her silence, neither yielding nor denying.

"Do I not have a right?" he asked.

And suddenly, her eyes were moist, there was a lump in her throat and before she could stop—before she could speak, tears were falling down her face. "He was thanking me!" she snarled, "For saving his kid's life!"

He inhaled sharply, blinked, closed his eyes for a moment and cursed himself for being an insensitive prick. As she swished past him into the house, he swallowed, made his reluctant feet chase after her—for it had been quite a while since he had chased after something—someone—and not the other way around.

He found her in the kitchen, pulling out vegetables from the fridge. "Sakura," he called. She didn't turn around, instead moving on to the counter.

He let out a breath, felt desperately inadequate. Then he swallowed thickly and remembered all the times she was the one watching his back.

"Sakura," he called again, this time softly. She stilled. He swallowed again, took a deep breath, steeled himself, "Kiss me if I'm wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?"

He waited, those few moments unbearable, before he heard the barest breath of a laugh. His chest unclenched then, and he let out a sigh of relief, opened his mouth again, "I—apologize."

She turned around then and it eased his heart to see a smile at the corner of her mouth. "You _are_ wrong, Sasuke-kun. Dinosaurs do not exist."

He won a private battle not to smile. "Aa."

"Dork," she said with a smile.

Then he came toward her, tilted her face up with his finger under her chin, and brushed his lips against hers.

Her arms came up, circled his neck. Her body went pliant as he gathered her closer. The muscles he stroked, kneaded and began to relax under his hands.

That was how Sarada found her parents as she returned home a few minute later.

_fin_

AN: _Snapshot from a different fic._


	7. Name

**Summary:** Whats in a name? For Sakura, apparently everything. SasuSaku.

**xxx**

"Sasuke-kun," she whispered as she settled beside him.

He gathered her in his arms and settled more comfortably into the bed. She lazily slipped her hands under his shirt and traced her fingers over his abs. He felt a soft shudder of pleasure run down his spine.

"Sasuke-kun," she said again, and settled her palm against his stomach. "Sasuke," she said, then; rolling his name on the tip of her tongue. His breath caught at the distinct lack of the suffix. He felt her settle more snugly beside him. "Sasuke-kun," she breathed. "Sasuke, Sasuke-kun, Sasuke-kun, Sasuke-kun," she whispered into the darkness, almost like a prayer. Then she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

A few moments passed in silence. He put his hand on hers, still settled beneath his shirt, warm and pliant yet littered of calluses. "What was that?" he asked.

She was silent for a few heartbeats, then pulled her head up to his. "I just—it just occurred to me that you're _Sasuke-kun_," she said. He cocked his head at her, lips twitching in amusement. "I am, indeed."

"No. That you're _my_ Sasuke-kun. This person I've known my entire life!" she said. "You're—I," she started, stopped, took a deep breath and started again, "You're the person I had a massive crush on when I was a little girl. You're the person who was—was this really broody kid with the softest, mushiest heart in the entire universe! You are the person who pretended to be all cool and aloof and—and you were broken and—" she stopped, exhaled, looked at his eyes, looked at his lips, "You made me love you," she finished quietly.

His heart pounded in his chest; her fished clenched on his skin—he didn't know what to say.

"Do you understand? You're Sasuke-kun. You're Sasuke. You make dumb decisions, do stupid things, brood and sulk and are so, so awkward I can't even! You're surly and flippant and mean and have a heart so big, so full of love that you're scared to let it out! You're my husband! You're the father of my child! You're Sasuke-kun!" she said. "You're _my_ Sasuke-kun," she said again, so simply, so casually that he had to swallow a few times just to take it in.

Then she flopped onto him again and hooked a finger in his navel as if she hadn't just spun his world around with just a mouth full of words. "God," she gritted out through clenched teeth. "God, you _stupid_, annoying woman," he glared at her, held her tighter to his side and took a deep breath. Then he turned them around and buried his head in the crook of her neck, breathed her in and wondered how her heart was so big, marveled how she looked into the darkness in his heart and still loved him. He pulled out her hand and twined his fingers with hers. She gave his a gentle squeeze. No, he thought. She reached into the darkness and unearthed his goodness and no matter where he went, she waited patiently for him to rediscover his own light. She didn't make him better. She made him _want_ to be better. And that's all goodness is, he thought; a constant reevaluation of who a person is. You make a conscious decision every day to be a good person and she showed him that no matter what mistakes he had made, it was never too late to start making those decisions.

That night, Sasuke lay awake in bed, reveled in the feeling of being Sasuke, _Sakura's _Sasuke,_ Uchiha_ Sasuke—Sasuke of Konohagakure—and fell asleep to the rhythmic lull of her breathing.

**x**

_fin_


	8. Papa's Day

**Title:** A heart on the sleeve  
**Notes:** Belated Papa's day, Sauce.

x

Uchiha Sasuke would admit it to no one-but when his daughter sat him down and told him in a placidly blank tone that they needed to talk-he was terrified.  
They weren't quite on the best terms yet-something he'd been desperately trying to rectify. But years lost could not so easily be bought back.

So when Sarada took a deep breath and skittishly looked him in the eyes, he was scared to death. What she said, instead, made his heart beat a little faster.  
"So," she started, fidgeting and restless, "you know it's fathers day tomorrow, right?"

Surprised and a little taken aback, he slowly shook his head, no. But his heart beat a little faster-with hope, it dawned on him. For hope that this child he'd robbed of a father was...

...was what? He wondered. He, himself had never been close to his father. And weighed down by the prospect of a redemption he'd unwittingly robbed his own child of one, too.

He swallowed and waited for her to continue.

"I-I, um," she started, took a deep breath and looked anywhere but at him. Then she gulped a deep breath and started again, "Mama's the only father I've ever known, you know?"

Frowning, she reluctantly met his eyes and held. Inadvertently, her lip wobbled and he clenched his hand in a fist to restrain it.

"But," she took a deep breath and composed herself, "but no matter how much I try, I can never make myself hate you."

"Sarada," he reached out, unbidden, without even noticing, and at the last moment held himself back.

"Why do you always do that?" she asked, frowning.

Fisting his hand on his knee, he gave her a questioning look.

"Hold yourself back?" She asked, a little sass back in her tone.

It grounded him, he realized; this side of her, so much like Sakura-curious and sassy and endearing.

_Because_, he thought, _I'm scared_. I'm _scared that you're scared of me. I'm scared that i almost hurt you. And I'm scared you won't forgive me._

On the outside, he opened his mouth and quite fantastically impersonated a blowfish.

"Papa..." Sarada gave him a pitying look and he finally closed his mouth.  
Hesitantly, she put a hand on his, and his grip on the fabric of his pant relaxed a little.

"How about," she started, her shoulders less tense now, "this father's day, we _both_ celebrate for mama?" Her lip quirked a little on the side.

He inhaled sharply, taken aback by the sheer kindness in her voice, the vulnerability in her eyes and marveled at how big her heart was. Like mother, he thought fondly, like daughter. Slowly, he turned his hand and gently clasped her's in his big one. He nodded, "Aa."

Her lips tugged in a smile then, a reluctant one, but a smile nonetheless, and Sasuke felt his heart ease. There would be time, he thought resolutely, for a hundred more father's days, a hundred mire birthdays, and he planned to be there for them all. "Aa," he said again and squeezed her hand, held on a little tighter.

She squeezed back and let him hold it. "I was thinking, breakfast in bed, maybe?" She rattled excitedly, now and Sasuke felt her letting him in. Little by little she was letting him in and he was so, _so_ grateful.

"Ok," he nodded.

"But," she averted her eyes, shyly now, "I don't know how to cook, so...um..."  
Sasuke's eyes crinkled and his mouth tugged into a soft smile. "Neither do I," he said, "at least, not something fancy."

"Really?" She frowned, a small, unconscious pout on her lips. "Now what?"  
Slowly, tentatively, Sasuke bought her hand to his heart and held it there. "We'll figure something out," he promised.

Sarada's eyes widened, and her cheeks warmed and suddenly, she found it very hard to hold Papa's gaze. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she felt, that while hating Papa might've been hard, loving him might turn out to be quite easy.

x

_fin_


	9. In these eyes

**In these eyes  
Summary: **Where Sarada revels in the ordinariness of loving Papa.

**x**

"It's okay to be scared, but you have to get out there, open up, love, make mistakes, learn to be stronger, and start all over again." –Word Porn

**x**

The first thing Sarada realized when living as a family was, that Papa was an oddball. He wasn't any of the things she had always imagined. In fact, he was quite the opposite. Where Sarada used to imagine a father with blinding smiles and unfathomable affections, her Papa was a man of…delicate sensibilities, she thought with a smile. He had a quiet demeanor, eyes that were perpetually worried—and occasionally, when Mama had her bouts of fury—harried. But Sarada was her Mama's daughter, and in that, she was obstinate and willful and had a heart too big for her own good—and she'd found that she loved Papa with all of it.

Papa sat on the couch, looking at her video game collection with a frown so deep one might think it was the end of the world. Sarada supposed he was fraught with imagined dooms of his little girl all grown up. So she skipped up to the couch and threw herself at him. He caught her easily, that frown leaving his forehead but never his lips.

"Would you play with me, Papa?" she said, nodding at the game in his hand.

Papa shifted with a habitual sort of fidget of the technologically doomed, and opened his mouth to deny.

"I'll teach you," she said quickly, before he could get a word in, because she knew if he would've denied, a part her heart would've shriveled up and died.

Papa must have sensed her desperation, because she felt him steeling himself before he nodded reluctantly. "Aa," he said, and the smile that bloomed on Sarada's face could've lit up the universe. Even Papa, with his belligerent attitude couldn't help but return it.

**x**

_fin_


	10. Magic

**Kind of like magic**  
**Summary:** Where Sarada weaves flowers in Papa's hair and Sakura puts together all the broken pieces of him.

**x**

Courtesy: WordPorn

**x**

Sasuke's hair was a veritable mess of flowers—orange blossoms, dahlias, peonies, sunflowers, marygolds, pansies—and Sakura suspects that Sarada is on a secret spree of revenge.

"And then Konohamaru sensei is totally flabbergasted because he pretends to be a respectable human being, but we all know he's just as bad as the Seventh," Sarada says fondly.

Her grin is infectious and like a hairdresser, she turns Sasuke's face this way and that, carefully assessing her work. Then solemnly, she declares, "You look gorgeous, Papa."

In response, he picks up one of the scattered pansies and tucks it behind her ear. _So are you_, his action seemed to say.

From her perch on the porch, Sakura observes, amused and brimming with warmth. Sasuke had fallen back into the role of Papa with wary aplomb and yet Sarada had only to look at him a certain way and he'd bend over backwards to make _anything_ happen. Case in point, Sakura thought, he would've died a thousand fiery deaths before ever letting anyone even touch his hair, much less weave flowers into it.

Sarada peers into his face and pecks him on the cheek. Sakura observes as a searing blush suffuses itself into his cheeks and he lowers his eyes in embarrassment and she wonders how he could have ever imagined he could be capable of anything but this silent, Sasuke sort of love, when it comes to them.

And she remembers just a few nights ago, whispering in his chest; "Sasuke-kun, you didn't come here to master unconditional love. That is where you came from and where you will return." He'd gasped into her arms, moved against her in the sweetest of ways, touched her with electric fingers and lost himself and gave himself. And emptied.

Later, in the wake of his love, she had told him, "You came here to learn personal love. Universal love. Messy love. Sweaty love. Crazy and broken and whole love." She'd kissed him on the shoulder, then. "Lived through the grace of stumbling, Sasuke-kun. Demonstrated through the beauty of…messing up. Often."

He'd buried his face in neck, held, her close.

"You didn't come here to be perfect," she'd told him, gently, ran her fingers through his hair, "You already are. You came here to be gorgeously human. Flawed and fabulous and…_you_. Sasuke-kun."

As she catches his eye from across the yard now, she flashes him a smile. "You _do_ look gorgeous, Papa."

And Sasuke, who's always been caught between a strong mind and a fragile heart, averts his eyes neatly in the most Sasuke of ways and she knows they've got him.

**x**

_fin_


	11. Close

**They Long to be Close**  
**Summary:** Sarada is learning to take the good with the bad. PapaSara  
**Notes:** …so I watched Inside Out.

**x**

Sarada feels like she understands heartache.

It's starts in the chest; a light squeeze, the smallest of tightening right in the place where your heart is. She understands the need to swallow that lump in the throat, to grit her teeth, to blink back tears. She understands sadness and she appreciates it.

She recognizes the bittersweet feeling of sorrow and joy.

That's what most memories with Papa feel like. The most perfect blend of happy and sad; a wistful sort of longing that never truly went away. She's learning to live like that; to take the good with the not-quite- bad. Because that's what Papa is; not quite bad. She coming to learn all the little things that make Papa—well, Papa; the subtle quirk of his lips when something is funny, the almost perpetually haggard look in his eyes, the empty sleeve of his left arm. She knows that he drawls when he speaks, hesitates when he talks to her, is so wary of everyone that it hurts her heart to think how he became like that.

Papa had an eighty-foot wall around his heart that was rigged with enough booby traps to drag down an army. She liked knowing that she was one of the very few people who could breach that wall. Someday, she thinks she'll muster the courage to break it down. Not today.

Today, she would make him squirm. Because she loved knowing that she was important enough for him to let all his walls down for.

"Won't you give it to her?" she asks with deliberately wide eyes. She knows he would never voice an outright negation; try to weasel past sneakily, but never deny. Just like she'd expected he gives her a beleaguered look that pleads for mercy.

She hands him the daffodil.

Reluctantly, he holds on to it, wages an internal battle to discard it, loses, makes a face and lets out a sigh of long suffering that makes his shoulders sag pitifully.

Sarada shoots him half a smile, catches his hand in hers. It's big, bumpy and calloused. It feels like home. "Mama will love it," she tells him.

"I know." He pats her head and she understands that it's the only way he knows how to show affection. She wants to careen into him, hold on tightly, make him feel all the love she feels for him.

Someday, she thinks she will.

She knows he's trying to make up for lost time. She knows he feels guilty. But she's starting to learn now that despite disappointing people, you can still be good enough. You can make mistakes and still be capable and talented. You can let people down and still be worth while and deserving of love.

She's starting to understand that everyone disappoints someone they care about. Everyone messes up, lets people down and makes mistakes. Not because they're inadequate or fundamentally inept, but because everyone out there is imperfect and human. Expecting anything different is setting yourself up for failure.

So she lets herself forgive him; again and again as much as he needs and for now, she just holds on to his hand.

**x**


	12. Metanoia

**Where the Road Meets the Sun**  
**Summary:** Where Sarada observes how love can be a tangible thing. SasuSaku  
**Notes**: Courtesy - Wordporn and semesakura

_x_

_I've never met a strong person with an easy past._

_x_

Sometimes, Sarada likes to hang back and watch.

And when she does, she wonders if they know. If they do, they don't say anything – so neither does she. But always, she lingers and she observes; those tiny moments that define her parents, these two pieces of completely opposite puzzles. She likes to watch how they fit together.

Today, she stands at the edge of the hall, shifts just so, so that when she tilts her head a little to the left, she can see right through the crack of the door to her parents room. It's small, but not small enough and she sees how Mama silently helps Papa with his clothes, sees Papa looking down at her with a gentle gaze and accepting her affections, sees Mama kissing the back of Papa's hand and _feels_ more than hears his soft gratitude.

She sees and she wonders _how _these two stayed away from each other for so long.

She understands then, that love isn't just love. It's hard work and trust and tears with even a few glimpses of devastation. But at the end of each day, if you can still look at the person at your side and can't imagine anyone else you'd rather have there, the pains and the heartaches and the ups and downs of love are worth it.

_x_

_fin_


	13. Apology

**Open Hands**

**Summary:** Where Chouchou berates Sasuke for being thoughtless and Sakura mind bends him into an apology.

* * *

He did not know just how many fuck-up's an average person was allowed in a lifetime, but he did know that he'd fallen way beyond the quota a long time ago; it grated on his nerves, this disjointed, irritable weight of those numerous mistakes.

"Look, Handsome," Akimichi Chouchou berated him sternly, "You cannot just tell a person who did their best that they could've been better!"

"I did not mean it in a bad way," he found himself explaining delicately. Beside him, Sakura discreetly took hold of his hand and squeezed gently, didn't look his way—but from the very periphery of his eye, he could make out the smile she was trying so very hard to stifle.

"_I_ know that!" Chouchou chastised gently, "But _she_ doesn't." She nodded in the direction of a large oak tree, under the shadow of which, Sarada balefully sharpened her kunai. His shoulders slumped; he suddenly felt very much like a failure again.

"Don't worry," said Chouchou, producing a bag of barbeque flavored chips out of her weapons pouch and offering it to him. He hesitated and she shook it in his face.

"Just take it," Sakura advised him quietly, and he did.

"It'll fix everything," Akimichi Chouchou explained with a Zen sort of sagaciousness, then heaved herself up and walked away.

Sasuke stared dubiously at the bag of chips. It crinkled noisily in his hand.

"Remember how you used to massage my back when my belly got big with her?" Sakura asked, and he found the spontaneity of the question discerning.

"Aa."

"Well, my back hurts," she said, turning around so that her back faced his front; a silent request or a command, he couldn't decipher, but he put the chips aside and tentatively put the palm of his hand around her hips, the small of her back, and massaged gently.

"Sasuke-kun?"

"Aa."

"Stop being too hard on the children."

"I'm not—"

"I know," she cut him off, and suddenly took hold of his hand, tugged it forward and splayed it on her stomach, so that his arm was wrapped around her waist, no matter how unwillingly. He tried to tug it out of grasp, felt a flush rising up the back of his neck and whipped his head around to see if anyone – Sarada – was looking. She was. Their eyes caught and he looked away, found himself hiding his face in Sakura's neck, because he had seen—seen the delighted curve of Sarada's lips. Mama and Papa were acting like Mama and Papa.

"Sakura," he pleaded in a strained voice, "Let go."

"Did she see?"

"Aa."

"Okay," she said, abruptly letting go and turning around, almost catching his mouth in a kiss. He leaned back, trying to gather his composure.

"Now go give her those chips," Sakura commanded.

"Aa," he complied.

From beyond the lawn, Sarada grinned.

* * *

_tbc_


End file.
